Better Than Chocolate
by Austin Blake
Summary: Buffy takes a sick day, and her Angel takes care of her.


DISCLAIMER: I do not own any of the following characters...just using them for my own personal enjoyment. (Dance, puppets, dance!) They are the property of Joss Whedon, David Greenwalt, Mutant Enemy, and several other associative bodies.  
  
DEDICATION: I dedicate this story to Molly, Skyler, and all the Buffy/Angel 'shippers out there. And few non-shippers, for although they are misguided, they are good friends. Even if they hate Buffy, they all agree that Angel is just to die for. Did I mention all the non-shippers I know are girls? Strange how they can't envision him with his soulmate, yet they can dream about walking down a beach with him. Coincidence? I think not. This has turned from a dedication to a mindless rant. My work here is done.  
  
NOTE: This story is just a little fluff, based after ADOLESCENCE, but I suppose it could stand alone. For the purpose of this story, Angel and Darla never conceived a child, and the Scoobies "forgot" to bring Spike back at the end of ADOLESCENCE.  
  
  
  
  
  
BETTER THAN CHOCOLATE  
-----  
  
"But I'm fine!"  
  
Buffy Summers' voice reverberated through the household as she sat up, trying to convince her two caretakers and herself. Willow laid a hand gently on her shoulder, lying her back down on the bed. Dawn came into the room with a bowl of water, setting it beside the bed. Willow wrung out a washcloth that had been soaking in the basin, placing the moist cloth on Buffy's forehead. She then took a thermometer that dangled loosely from Buffy's lips, looking at it with minimal apprehension.  
  
"You have a fever of one hundred and two," Willow said, putting the thermometer on the nightstand, "that isn't fine."  
  
"A mere technicality," Buffy said, cringing a bit a something moved the wrong way in her stomach.  
  
"You've just got a little bug." Dawn said, turning the cloth over on her forehead to the cooler side. "It won't kill you to stay in bed for a day."  
  
"But..."  
  
"No buts," Willow interrupted, "You're staying in bed. We'll handle any activity in the graveyard tonight if you're still sick." Willow got to her feet, sliding a pan across the floor so it rested near the head of the bed. "We're going to go to the pharmacy and pick up some medicine for you. That," Willow indicated the pan with a nod, "is just in case things...come up."  
  
Dawn lifted the washcloth up just enough to kiss Buffy's forehead. "Get better soon, and remember: Don't get out of the bed."  
  
Buffy moaned in both defeat and ailment, her hands moving to rest upon her stomach in an attempt to relieve her discomfort. Willow and Dawn exited, and a few moments later Buffy heard the start of a car. She listened as they drove away, leaving a queasy Slayer all alone without the comfort of a Whitman's Sampler or TV. She was pondering the consequences of merely going downstairs to catch a cheesy daytime soap opera - maybe Passions was on - when she heard a creak downstairs.  
  
Normal girls would have disregarded the noise as a result of the house's age, or perhaps a figment of their imaginations. But Buffy wasn't a normal girl. As she heard the slight squeak again she sat up in her bed. Another squeak, and she realized someone was coming up the stairs. Her heart pounded in her chest, the adrenaline not mixing well with the antigens ravaging her body. She felt herself become very lightheaded, but still she silently reached inside her nightstand drawer, retrieving a stake she kept there for emergencies.  
  
Another creak urged her out of bed, feet unsteadily yet quietly alighting on the floor. She crept over to her door, trying to keep her balance through the haze created by her illness. As the creaks grew louder, she realized that her would-be assailant was coming closer. Buffy raised her arm, wielding the stake to strike an incapacitating blow on her intruder as he turned the corner into her room.  
  
Angel's strikingly appealing features only became more gorgeous in Buffy's eyes when he smiled, which he did a lot more since becoming human...and marrying her. And when he saw his sick spouse poised to commit homicide, he did just that.  
  
"I came to check up on you." Angel said, laying his hand on her elevated one and lowering it, as well as the stake. "Should I have come armed too?"  
  
Buffy smiled and wrapped her arms around his waist tightly, her cheek nuzzling into the black silken fabric of his shirt, which was made comfortably warm by his pulsating heart. "I missed you," she said, looking up at him dreamily, as if she still couldn't believe she was married to this magnificent being, "you weren't in bed when I woke up."  
  
Angel smiled slightly, stroking the delicate blonde strands of hair that crowned her head like a halo, for that was what she was to him. No kinder, gentler, more loving angel could have been sent to him from the heart of Heaven itself. "I woke up in the middle of the night. You were whimpering in your sleep, so I felt your forehead. You were hot, so I spent all morning cooking my special chicken noodle soup. It still has a couple of minutes to simmer, though."  
  
Buffy beamed. "Extra noodles?"  
  
Angel smiled again, kissing her fevered forehead daintily. "Yep. Just like you like it. I even added bigger pieces of chicken." His arms drifted around her waist, tightening carefully so as not to hurt her weakened body any further. "You'd be surprised how hard it is to find a chicken at three A.M."  
  
Buffy giggled lightly at his joke, feeling rather flighty in his arms. True, she always had a sense of giddiness in Angel's embrace, but this was near fainting. Angel, sensing her body falter a bit, simply knelt and picked her legs up in one arm, the other arm cradling her back. He carried her over to her bed, lying her on the mattress gently. With an adoringly nurturing touch, Angel caressed her cheek affectionately with the back of his hand before tucking the down comforter around her.  
  
Angel surveyed the form before him, Buffy's body seeming so much smaller now. Her blonde hair was tousled by her pillow in an unruly manner, yet all he saw was a majestic spill of gold that gave prominence to her eyes, profound consortiums of olive flecks, emerald pools, and a touch of auburn. Her face was noticeably pale and sickly, her lips rendered insipid by whatever virus that was damaging her body. But Angel saw a celestial being of porcelain delicacy, something of such remarkable beauty that he had to protect it with his life.  
  
Buffy noticed Angel's staring at her, although he didn't. She didn't mind when he did that; she knew what he was thinking. It was the same thing she thought when she occasionally watched him sleep. She would reminisce about their first night and other seemingly small events, from every longing look to every breathtaking kiss. Then she'd look to their future, and see nothing but more of the same. That gave her comfort. Having Angel near her always did, and now she'd have that same soothing warmth for the rest of their lives.  
  
"You okay?" Buffy asked gently, smiling as her thoughts lingered in her mind.  
  
Angel barely roused from his trance, offering a warm smile as a response. "Just thinking about how much more beautiful you get every time I see you."  
  
Buffy beamed as he ran his fingers through her hair. Her touch always seemed to offer redemption for him, forgiveness always found in her smile or kiss. But intimate moments like these seemed to cleanse his soul completely, and the simple action of caressing her head did just that, like a long river of saffron enveloping his hand, warming it, offering assurance that she was there. That gave him comfort. Having Buffy near him always did, and now he'd have that same soothing warmth for the rest of their lives.  
  
Angel knelt by her bedside, kissing her lips in loving worship as though they were the most fragile things on Earth. Buffy accepted him, her own fingers lacing around the back of his head, dancing among the somber locks of hair that always seemed so disheveled, even though he gelled it to look that way. Buffy nearly snickered at the aspect of his owning a mirror, yet still having the same hair.  
  
After a few tender moments, they broke off, gazing into one another's eyes like it was the first time. Angel wasn't used to breathing, and was determined on kissing her for as long as he could, for that was what she was used to from him. Buffy smiled up at him adoringly, running her fingers along the sculpted curve of his jaw.  
  
"I think I'm feeling better already." she stated simply, lips tracing where fingertips had previously been on his face.  
  
"Is that a fact?" Angel said, touching his own lips once more to the hot surface of her forehead.  
  
"Definitely." Buffy said, radiating happiness as her eyes caught sight of his chest, which lightly rose and fell with his breathing. She still wasn't quite used to it, and had never seen so wondrous a sight. "You're better than chocolate."  
  
Angel grinned, resting his head on her bosom lightly. "I'm moving up in the world."  
  
Buffy giggled, but the moment was interrupted as a violent cough burst from her lungs, shaking her harshly as she struggled to breathe normally. Angel rubbed her back reassuringly, helping her to lie back down as the aftershocks of the cough dwindled away. Buffy looked up at him, her appearance sicklier than before now that her illness had reared it's head.  
  
"You're human now," Buffy said, feebly trying to push him back with her hand, "I don't want you catching this."  
  
Angel looked down at the hand on his chest, taking it into his own and kissing it lightly. He smiled. "We're married. We're supposed to share things."  
  
Buffy nestled her head into her pillow, the effects of her fever setting in. "How about sharing some soup with your sick wife? That is, if you don't mind a shower of mucus raining upon you from time to time."  
  
Angel stood, removing his duster from his shoulders and placing it around her over the comforter, as if it were an inefficient substitute for him. He turned for the door, making his way out silently. "I've had worse rained upon me."  
  
Buffy smiled, closing her eyes for a moment. When she reopened them, she saw Angel entering with a steaming bowl of his culinary concoction. He set the bowl on the nightstand, assisting her as she sat up, then placing the bowl on her lap, which was safely shielded by her blanket and his coat. Buffy spooned the soup, gathering a large lump of noodles and chicken until she was satisfied with the portion. She tasted it, savored it, and smiled as she swallowed it.  
  
"Do you do windows?" Buffy asked, not at all uncomfortable with the idea of Angel taking care of her. If it was one person she wanted to, if it was one person who could, it was he.  
  
Angel smiled faintly, watching with complete adoration the entire time she ate. As she finished, he took the empty bowl and set it on the nightstand, observing the drowsy look in Buffy's eyes. "Sleepy?"  
  
Buffy nodded, and Angel took her hand and helped her back to a lying position. Her eyes closed instantly as she curled up on her side, a silent invitation for him to join her. Angel paused, considering the drawbacks of sleeping beside her. Finding none, he circled the bed, laying on his own side above the comforter. He draped his arm over her waist, and Buffy gravitated back into his arms, finding them much more cozy than that which currently blanketed her. And together they drifted off into a peaceful slumber, dreams of each other filling their minds.  
----- 


End file.
